


Separation

by SM (abcdefuk_off)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Kid Fic, M/M, Relationship Struggles, heavy on the angst tbh, it ends cute and wholesome tho, the way things should, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abcdefuk_off/pseuds/SM
Summary: Zayn had been the love of Harry's life since he’d laid eyes on the beautiful boy back in college.  The two had gotten married right after graduation and adopted a perfect baby girl a year later.  There had been trials during their time together, their personalities were very different and they were both quite stubborn so there had been many arguments and clashes until they finally figured out how to compromise and communicate.  In all that time, in three years of dating and four years of marriage, never once did Harry imagine even in his worst dreams, that he and Zayn would ever choose to be separate from one another – to live separate lives in separate houses.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Separation

Harry fidgeted nervously as he approached the door. 

Zayn’s door. 

Because they used to share a door, but now they had separate doors, they had separate houses…because they were in a _separation_. 

Harry hated that word and everything it represented. 

Zayn had been the love of his life since he’d laid eyes on the beautiful boy back in college. The two had gotten married right after graduation and adopted a perfect baby girl a year later. There had been trials during their time together, their personalities were very different and they were both quite stubborn so there had been many arguments and clashes until they finally figured out how to compromise and communicate. In all that time, in three years of dating and four years of marriage, never once did Harry imagine even in his worst dreams, that he and Zayn would ever choose to be separate from one another – to live separate lives in separate houses. 

It was a fucking nightmare. 

But Harry had chosen it, hadn’t he? So, what right did he have to complain?! He had suggested the separation, the fractured look on Zayn’s face when he had done so still haunted him daily – no, _hourly_. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do after a year of constant tension, a year of being shut-out by his husband, a year without any genuine communication at all? Harry had tried so hard, tried everything to get the man he loved just to _speak_ to him about something more real than the bloody weather. It got to the point where he had been trying every day to pick a fight, to say things he knew bothered Zayn, things that would get under his skin and cause him to react – but even that hadn’t worked. He hadn’t even been able to get an argument out of the painfully silent boy; Zayn would simply walk away instead of responding. After a year of radio silence, where the pair spoke about nothing beyond matters pertaining to their daughter, Harry had been ready to explode. He had been shouting and screaming and trying everything he could to get something out of his husband, and in his desperation, he had snapped, claiming that he needed space – that they needed a separation. He had mostly said it to shock a reaction our of the stubborn lad, but instead he had received a silent nod of compliance and a whispered promise to pack some things and be out by the morning – and while the perfectly sculpted face had been twisted in obvious distress, Zayn had not spoken another word; he had not tried for even a moment to fight, to fight for _them_. 

So here they were, four months into a separation and nothing was better. 

Harry still hurt every day, he just hurt differently now. He wasn’t dealing with the ache of constantly being shut-out by the man he loved most – the person who had committed to being his _partner_ in life; but he was dealing with the agony of being apart from his _husband_ the other half of his fucking soul. 

Harry hated it. 

But he didn’t know what else to do, because being together hadn’t been working, not for the past year. Harry had been frustrated beyond belief and Zayn hadn’t been happy either – quiet, sure, but not happy. Separation wasn’t working any better though, Harry still wasn’t happy and he could see clearly that Zayn wasn’t either – and now their daughter was miserable as well. 

Together didn’t work. 

Separate didn’t work. 

And divorce wasn’t a word Harry would even permit himself to ponder for so much as a second. It was unthinkable. 

Harry looked at the door to the small row house his husband had been living in for months. Harry hadn’t been to this new place more than twice, Zayn always came to their home to pick up their daughter Friday evenings and then often drove her to school Mondays after which Harry would pick her up again. Harry’s heart ached every time he laid eyes on his husband, both because it was torture to be so close to the man and yet so distressingly far and because lately Zayn looked so fucking fragile -- all Harry wanted to do was hold him and make everything better. But he couldn’t do that. 

And that?

Well, that was fucking _torture_.

Harry’s hand twitched anxiously before he knocked hesitantly at the door, chewing on his bottom lip as he waited for it to be opened. He had received a call that morning, the voicemail being from a softly spoken Zayn – Harry had to turn the kettle off just to be able to hear it – asking if Harry would be able to pick up Madison from Zayn’s and take her to school. Harry had immediately sent a text that he was on his way, he assumed something had come up at Zayn’s work. The job his husband took over a year ago had been demanding as hell, Harry had originally wanted to blame it for their marital issues, but Zayn had never once neglected his family for work no matter how demanding his employer was being, not once. 

Which was just frustrating as fuck, because there was nothing to blame. Zayn had always been there, always been physically present no matter how much pressure work pushed on him to clock an absurd amount of overtime. The distance had been emotional, for over a year the man Harry loved more than life had seemed so out of his reach even when they were asleep in the same bed.

The young lad was pulled from his increasingly depressing thoughts as the door swung open to reveal his five-year old daughter. 

“Daddy!” She greeted with a toothy grin. 

“What are you doing answering the door, young lady?” He asked, squatting down to pick her up, give her a hug, and kiss her cheek. 

“Baba said it was you.” She responded, wiggling in his arms to be let down. 

“Where is Baba?” Harry questioned, using his thumb to swipe peanut butter off the side of Madison’s mouth, before placing her back on the ground. 

“Right here.” She stated, stepping further into the hall. 

Harry stepped across the threshold, trying his best not to feel like an intruder as he followed his daughter into the house. 

He frowned as he looked around the dark interior and spotted no sign of his husband, he looked down to his left to ask his daughter where her baba was, when he spotted her standing in front of an achingly-familiar slender form that was seated against the wall in the narrow corridor. 

Zayn had his legs bent up against his chest and his head buried in the arms he had folded across his kneecaps. 

“Zayn?” Harry called out, trying not to panic at the sight of the bold boy folded up so terribly small, looking so distressingly vulnerable. 

“Shh, Daddy. Baba has a headache.” Madison chastised, her finger pressed up to her lips as her hand gently pet Zayn’s unkept black hair. 

Fuck. 

It all made sense. 

Zayn was suffering from a migraine. 

Harry winced in sympathy. The beautiful boy had suffered from migraines for longer than Harry had known him, since his teens. There had been many doctors and many studies and they had all concluded the same thing, that there was no specific trigger for the ailment, but stress seemed to be a factor. It had taken awhile but just a few years ago Zayn had finally found a preventative medication that had worked fairly well without any side-effects, but it wasn’t fool-proof. Obviously. 

“Madison, it’s pink day in your class today, why don’t you very quietly go switch your blue shirt for a pink one.” He whispered to his daughter, knowing the outfit change would give him the time he needed to deal with Zayn – Madison took forever to get changed, often because she got distracted by a million other things in the process… took after her daddy in that respect. 

“Can I wear the one with Elsa?” She squealed excitedly. 

Harry couldn’t help but notice the way the long body curled up against the wall flinched at the noise. 

“Shh. Yes, baby, ofcourse you can.” Harry smiled, nudging his daughter gently down the hall towards her room – her other room, because she had two now, because _separation_. 

“Okay.” She whispered back with a nod, running her hand gently over Zayn’s bed-head hair before scampering down the hall. 

Harry took a moment, shifting uncertainly, his mind over-thinking his current situation. He always hated Zayn’s migraines, hated how they stole the light from those beautiful eyes, how they made Zayn so ill and caused his slender frame to tremble. It had taken some time for Harry to learn how to handle the ailment. To learn what timbre of his voice caused his love the least pain. To learn what fluids worked best to keep Zayn hydrated and what he could handle eating. It took time to learn how to help the fragile bird through the agony until the medication took effect – or until the migraine ran its course. 

But things were different now. 

And Harry wasn’t sure how to help like he used to, the separation changed things and he wasn’t certain about the rules, about what he was or wasn’t permitted to do now that they were…separate. 

Harry shook his head at himself, shoving away the anxiety. 

The bottom line was that Zayn was in pain, and Harry needed to help in whatever way the older lad would allow.

He squatted down in front of those skinny legs, reaching out and gently wrapping his hand around one of the narrow shins, squeezing softly. He waited patiently and after a moment or two, Zayn lifted his head off his arms and looked in Harry’s direction. 

That perfectly sculpted face was lined with agony and those soulful eyes were bloodshot and clouded with pain as they slowly tracked to the younger man.

“Forgot ‘bout pink day. M’sorry.” He slurred, his words barely louder than a breath. 

Harry shook his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, babe- Zayn.” 

If Zayn noticed the clumsy correction, he made no sign of it, he simply unfolded himself and attempted to climb to his feet. 

Harry’s hands hovered, reaching out and snagging Zayn’s arm when he began to lose his balance.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Harry prompted softly, gently pulling the long limb to direct Zayn towards the place he was pretty sure his bedroom was located. 

“No, can’t -- gotta go to work.”

Harry stalled at the rasped statement, frowning at the man in front of him. “You can’t work like this.” He stated rather redundantly – because Zayn _knew_ that. 

“Hav’ to.” Zayn croaked, reaching up to cradle his forehead as his lean frame swayed. 

Harry strengthened his grip, remaining prepared if those skinny legs gave out. “You couldn’t drive Madison to school, how are you going to drive to work?” 

Zayn shook his head, immediately paling at the movement, and leaning more heavily into Harry as he wavered. “M’not. Gonna call a cab.” 

“Can you even handle looking at your phone long enough to make that call?” Harry asked, trying not to let his frustration show, because that wouldn’t help – if anything it would make the stubborn man more resistant. 

Zayn frowned as he appeared to consider the question, before his tired gaze found its way to Harry. “You could?”

It was Harry’s turn to shake his head. “You can’t work like this, Zee.” It was meant to be a declaration, but came out sounding much more like a plea. 

Zayn’s lips were pinched and he appeared to be thinking about it, when a car horn sounding from the street pierced the silence and sent Zayn crumpling towards the floor with a gasp. 

Harry snagged him around the hips and was able to hold the long body up until Zayn was able to find his legs again. His normally olive skin was pale from pain, his breaths short and shallow. The thin frame shook as Zayn curled forward until his forehead dropped onto Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry’s heart clenched in response to the agony he knew his husband was in. 

“Let me help you to bed, okay?” He requested quietly. 

It took a moment, but eventually he felt the head on his shoulder shift up and down in a small nod. Harry released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in relief to the cooperative response, and began to slowly guide Zayn further into the house. 

The long legs stumbled along, nearly entangling themselves in Harry’s. The younger man frowned, knowing how bad Zayn’s migraine had to be for him to be so unsteady on his feet. 

He could hear his husband trying to control his breathing as they made their way down the hall. They passed Madison’s room, Harry quirking a smile as he peaked in and saw their daughter half-dressed and organizing the stuffed animals on her bed, explaining to them all that she had to go to school and that they had to behave in her absence. That child could be down-right meticulous when it came to how she arranged her toys, something she got from her papa. 

Harry moved past the pink room, to the one across the hall from it, the one he hadn’t entered before today. He pushed the door open, trying to ignore how weird it felt entering the room his husband slept in without Harry…because they had separate bedrooms now. The room was dark, and Harry kept it that way, using the light filtering in from the hallway to lead the taller man to the bed and gently guide him down onto the mattress. 

The moment Zayn sat, he buried his head in his hands, leaning down towards his knees so far that Harry was nervous he would tumble right onto the floor. 

Harry moved to kneel in front of the hunched man, reaching up between Zayn’s arms and finding the half-knotted tie with his fingers -- his husband’s hands were likely too shaky for him to tie a proper knot when he dressed that morning. Harry draped the tie over his shoulders as he began to unbutton the grey dress shirt. Zayn sat up a bit further, keeping one hand cradling his skull as the other one moved clumsily around his chest. 

“Can do it.” He croaked. 

Harry rolled his eyes – ever the stubborn lad. 

“Leave it, Zee.” He ordered softly, swatting away the trembling fingers. 

“Can do it – you gotta go take Madz to school.” Zayn stated through clenched teeth. Harry looked up at the pale face and could practically see his husband’s pain escalating – each word he spoke costing him dearly. 

Harry waited for those dark eyes to meet his, which they did eventually, though they were foggy and shadowed, they were focussed. 

“I’m not going anywhere until I get you settled, so just – cooperate, yeah?”

Zayn seemed to think about it a moment, or maybe it took awhile for the words to make it through the haze of agony, but eventually he appeared to submit, allowing his hand to fall away and return to join the other one that was cradling his head. 

Harry was grateful as fuck that his husband’s infamous stubborn streak hadn’t made an appearance, as he returned to the task of unbuttoning the shirt. He untucked the fabric from Zayn’s pants so that he could get to the bottom buttons and once they had all been undone he made to remove the shirt. He begins to try to maneuver the clothing off Zayn’s shoulders, but the fitted material doesn’t stretch. 

“Need you to move your hands.” 

The thin frame becomes impossibly more tense. 

“Just for a second, Zee. Just so I can slip this shirt off.” Harry explains softly. 

Zayn pulls his fingers away from where they were drilling into his temples, and lets them fall to his side. Harry glances up briefly at the unobstructed view of his husband’s face, and is alarmed at the sight of tears slipping out from beneath closed eyelids and trailing down the pale cheeks.

Harry could count on two hands the number of times he had seen Zayn cry since knowing him. It wasn’t that the lad was heartless, he was actually incredibly kind, sympathetic, and sensitive – but he kept his feelings locked down, buried inside of himself. He rarely permitted himself to cry and when he did, it was only ever in private. Harry had felt so fortunate the first time he witnessed Zayn’s tears, not because the boy he loved so dearly was in distress, but because he was finally allowed in – Harry was finally trusted with Zayn in his most vulnerable state, something that had taken _years_ but was more than worth it. 

Harry hadn’t seen Zayn cry at all in the past year, not since they had started to drift apart – he hadn’t thought for a moment that meant the man hadn’t been upset in all that time, but rather that he was no longer permitted to see him in such vulnerable a state. 

Harry’s heart clenched violently the way it always did at the sight of tears trailing down that perfectly sculpted face. He removed the button-up top, leaving the white cotton shirt beneath – Zayn always wore layers, the boy had run cold as long as Harry had known him, which suited the warm-blooded lad just fine. They had made a very complimentary pair, Zayn had always been adorably content slipping into the hoodies and jackets that an over-heated Harry was constantly discarding.

“The meds not helping at all?” Harry questioned softly, as he reached down and removed each of Zayn’s shoes. 

The dark-haired man muttered something, but it was done so softly that Harry wasn’t able to hear a word. 

“Here, let’s get you laying down.” He prompted, gently lifting the long legs up onto the bed, quickly tugging the covers from beneath them as Zayn curled up onto his side. 

Harry considered helping his husband out of his slacks, but didn’t know if that would be crossing some sort of imaginary line. He didn’t understand the rules of separation, and to be honest, he never wanted to – he didn’t want this pain to go on any longer. He shook his head at himself, electing to leave the pants to Zayn’s own discretion. 

“When did you take your meds?” He asked as he spread the blanket up over his husband’s form, knowing that unless it had been late last night, that the next dosage would not be due anytime soon. 

“Didn’t.” 

The response was whispered and further muffled by a pillow, but Harry’s ears were strained and just managed to pick it up. 

“What?” He gasped, just barely able to muffle his shocked tone. He squatted down, leaning close to Zayn’s face, reaching up to gently comb the unkept black hair off the pale forehead. “You haven’t taken anything yet?” He asked, hoping to everything holy that he was wrong. 

“No.” Zayn rasped. 

Harry pressed his lips together, shaking his head, refusing to start in on a lecture about how fucking important it was for Zayn to take care of himself – because heaven knows he’d had that conversation hundreds of times before and it never got him anywhere; also he knew by the agony still lining that perfect face, that now was not the time for anyone to be reading the riot-act. 

Harry pushed away from the bed with a huff, turning to march from the room, when long fingers locked around his wrist. He stopped and turned to look down at the pained gaze squinting up at him. 

“I’m just going to grab your meds.” He explained after Zayn failed to make a sound. 

“Don’t have any.” The older boy croaked as his hand seemed to lose strength and drop back onto the mattress. 

Harry cursed quietly as he raked his fingers through his hair, his frustration bubbling to the surface. 

“Baba!”

Harry watched as Zayn flinched violently at the delighted screech. 

“Madison.” Harry scolded in a low voice. 

His daughter paused on her way bounding through the room, turning to him with a scowl on her face – the squinted expression making her look just like Zayn. 

“Baba’s head is hurting him. Remember what we are supposed to do when that happens?” Harry squatted down as he questioned softly, feeling badly for his misplaced frustration, but still needing to protect the wounded lad on the bed. 

Their daughter nodded solemnly, placing a finger to her lips as she whispered a response. “Keep very quiet and be ‘specially kind to Baba.”

Harry nodded at the lesson he had taught the young girl as soon as she’d been old enough to learn it.

“It’s okay, Madz.” Zayn croaked, the smile on his face doing nothing to erase the pain, but was enough to light up their daughter’s expression and send her skipping to the bed. 

Zayn leveraged himself up on shaking arms, putting in an obvious effort to appear as though he were the epitome of health – and while that brilliant man was a great many things, that was one he had never once been. Harry wanted to tell the stubborn lad to lie the fuck back down, but he bit back the words – no longer sure it was his place to say anything. 

“Careful.” He mumbled as Madison leapt onto the bed and into Zayn’s arms. 

“D’you like my outfit?” The little girl asked with a grin as she gestured to her pink sweater, shirt, pants, and socks.

Harry knew their sweet daughter was attempting to be quiet, but cringed at the level of her voice and the additional lines of agony that creased Zayn’s face because of it. 

“I love it. It’s very pink. You look lovely.” Zayn rasped, his expression as soft as it could be while still experiencing such pain, as his hands gently reached up and redid the ponytail he had no doubt just assembled an hour ago. 

“Give Baba a hug and a kiss now, Madison, we’ve got to get you to school.” Harry instructed softly. His daughter nodded along, wrapping her little arms up around Zayn’s long neck, giving him a kiss and giggling softly as she received one in return. 

“Have a good day, Madz, and be good for Daddy, please.” The dark-haired man whispered, holding their daughter close. “I love you, sweetheart, and I’ll see you soon.” 

Harry looked away, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat that appeared about the same time that his husband’s voice cracked on the word _soon_.

“Love you too, Baba. Feel better.” Madison whispered softly as she was lifted by Zayn and placed gently on her feet on the floor.

“I’ll be fine.” He promised, his tight smile doing nothing to convince Harry, but worked just fine on their daughter who skipped contently from the room. Harry followed the gleeful girl from the room, pausing at the doorway, turning to tell Zayn he would return shortly with his meds; but by the time he looked back at the bed, the thin man was curled up tight and hidden beneath the covers. Not wanting to disturb the pained lad, Harry simply pulled the door nearly closed and tried to usher Madison silently from the house. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? Honestly, I'd just be happy to know that somebody read it ;) It'll motivate me to finish the 2nd half. - Sam


End file.
